


Untitled

by LuuuCifer



Category: Sons of Anarchy, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-07
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-02-11 14:28:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12937221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuuuCifer/pseuds/LuuuCifer
Summary: Years have passed, as well as thousands of miles. He's not sure why he still keeps going in this hellscape, but there's no reason to stop, either. The final President of the Sons of Anarchy, Filip "Chibs" Telford rolls on and his arrival on the east coast runs him straight into a war... A war unlike any he's fought before.Friendships will be forged, enemies made, and there's a chance that Chibs may find a part of himself, thought to be long dead, alive in someone else.Chibs, Daryl, Carol POVs





	1. - Prologue -

**Author's Note:**

> Not quite sure where this story will take me. I have a rough idea of where and what will happen. Either way, questions and comments are ALWAYS welcome and appreciated. Thank you for indulging me. ♡

The sound of the gravel being ground into the dusty lot by two sets of tires was almost inaudible under the residual drone rattling between his ears from hours of riding. That drone radiated out, far beyond his ears, extending down his neck, spine, and into his limbs, rendering them all but numb. He lived on his bike now. They both did. Stopping only to sleep for short periods to sleep, since he & Tig had both decided that stopping for any extended period of time just lead to bullshit.

He glanced at Tig, who returned the look with a silent nod. This would do. Another deserted gas station. Another few hours before they continued their journey without destination.

He dropped the stand & reached into his kutte to draw one of the guns he had stowed in his shoulder holster as he motioned with his head for Tig to cover him. Wincing at the pins & needles in his lower half, he  
rose off his bike & made his way to the corner of the building, Tig as his shadow. They'd stow the bikes once they knew they wouldn't be sharing the area with anyone, alive or dead.

"Right behind you." Tig mumbled.

They sidled up to the building and Chibs peered over his shoulder into the filthy window. The setting sun and the layer of dust on the glass cast a dim, grimy filter on the inside of the little building, its contents, and its occupants. He turned back to his friend, and silently mouthed, "Two" before moving towards the entrance.

The shambling shells of humanity that lie in wait inside were definitely stirred by the sound of their bikes. Now all they had to do was get them to focus their attention so they could draw them out & dispatch them. Chibs gave the glass door two strong kicks with his heel. Within a few seconds, the unmistakable growls of the dead became clear. Soon after that, the sound of teeth scratching their way across the glass came. Tig moved past Chibs to stand in front of the door and holstered his gun in favor of a knife. Chibs reached for the door's  
handle when Tig gave him the go ahead and pulled it open, allowing the trapped monsters to spill out, clumsily, into a pile of rank bone & rot. Tig caught the second's face with the blade of the knife as it fell, allowing gravity to do all the work. Chibs let go of the door, allowing the other writing corpse to hold it open, stepping around it. It reached up at him, gnashing its decaying jaws and staring blankly. He moved to cover its drawn, discolored face with his boot and slowly applied pressure until he felt a crunch and the snarling stopped.

He looked up from the puddle black, fetid blood and skull fragments, gazed up the road & back behind Tig and then peered into the small store as he kicked some of the liquid rot off his foot.

"That was easy." Tig said lightly as he made to pass Chibs and enter  
the building.

"Aye", came his gravely reply as his free hand reached in his pocket for the pack of stale Marlboros and his Zippo. He lit it, drew the smoke into his chest, exhaling after a beat, "Corn Nuts?!"

"Yea, I know!" Tig squawked impatiently, likely exploring the rest of the store. Chibs gave one more cautious look around noting some barrels, a trailer, & some other refuse nearby & then headed inside, cigarette between his teeth. He stepped over the dead & looked around  
the dingy shop, trying to locate Tig. His friend popped up from behind a shelf, arms full of small bags of odds & ends snack foods, a look of feigned indignation on his face.

"Hey, man," he said around a bag of chips hanging from is mouth, "Sign  
says "No Smokin'"

Chibs regarded him with a sarcastic sneer before nodding his head to Tig's cache of newly looted junkfood & raising a hand to catch whatever Tig decided to throw his way. Tig grinned before lobbing a bag his way & as it sailed through the air, Chibs realized what it  
was.

"Yeeeeesss", he laughed victoriously, catching the bag of Corn Nuts easily with his free hand. He tucked his gun back in the holster that hung under his left arm and tore into the bag triumphantly.

"Savor it, brother. It's the only bag, and you're only getting it because I'm feeling particularly magnanimous," Tig teased as he tossed the handful of other bags onto the counter.

"Wha' would I do with'oot yuh, Tiggy?" Chibs burred with a tired chuckle as he stuffed some into his mouth.

The meager revelry was bought to an abrupt end by the sound of an approaching engine. Chibs froze & looked at Tig, who confirmed he'd hear the same thing by going wide eyed, himself. Chibs spat the mouthful of food onto the filthy floor.

"The bikes!" he ground out as he turned back toward the filthy window, drawing his gun again. Tig crossed behind his back, going to the far side of the room to the other window that faced the bikes. They watched as a Jeep tore down the desolate rural road, and for a moment  
Chibs thought they might be fine. Maybe they wouldn't spot the bikes, as it was getting dark out. They probably had someplace to be. Not many people, these days, had the balls to be out after sunset.

The brake lights we visible, shining as the Jeep slowed just before reaching the gas station. No such luck, apparently.

"Shite!" Chibs hissed as the Jeep rolled up behind the bikes. They watched as two men hopped out of the Jeep, one immediately running up to the bikes, putting a hand out to check for warmth radiating off the engines. He nodded to the other man, who slid out of the vehicle with an assault rifle of some sort. It was dark; Chibs couldn't tell what it was. The first man moved one that had been slung around his shoulder to his front.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck," Tig chanted. The rest of their weapons, including those of equivalent firepower were still on their bikes. The second man; the driver, said something to the first guy who was starting to rummage through the saddlebags on Tigs bike, & then nodded  
over to the far end of the building. The trailer.

"They're gunnae take tae fuckin' bikes." Chibs growled to Tig. Just then the driver stopped & looked over at the gas station. He knew they were in there. Chibs & Tig knew the guy knew they were in there. He confirmed it as he called confidently to them.

"We got your bikes & your guns! You might as well just come on out & hand over whatever else you have! If you try to run or try to fight, we'll just kill you!"

Chibs turned & looked at Tig. Tig grit his teeth.

"Tigger" Chibs said in a low, warning tone.

"C'mon now! Come on out so we can collect. If you play your hand right, we may even be able to put you to work. Help you out!"

The first man was now moving to Chibs' bike. He was going through the ammo & the bottles of water he had tucked in one of the bags.

"Hello in there!" the driver shouted aggressively. The other man made to pop the stand on Chibs' bike & roll it towards the small trailer. Out of the corner of his eye, in slow motion, Chibs watched Tig aim out the window and start firing. "TIG!"

"YOU AIN'T TAKIN' OUR BIKES, ASSHOLE!"

The men returned fire immediately, showering the little gas station in bullets. Glass rained down on Chibs from the dirty window as he hunkered against the concrete wall. Bottles exploded & long settled dust went airborne.

"ALRIIIGHT ! ALRIGHT ALREADY!" Tig hollered as the shooting continued. After a few more seconds of excessive show via gunfire, it finally abated. Chibs looked up, looked around, looked over at Tig. They were  
both in one piece, but who knew how long that was going to last now.

"If these bawbags don't kill us, Tig, I'm gunnae kill ya!" Chibs spat.

These guys were clearly holed up somewhere with a seemingly unlimited supply of ammo. They likely had friends. Chibs realized they were likely infinitely out manned & out gunned. Perhaps a few years before…  
Before everything society ended & before everything else…Yeah, they'd have been able to hose these guys, but not now. They were, very likely, the last living members of the Sons of Anarchy MC, from their charter or others, & this was likely how they were going out. If these assholes didn't blow them away, the goddamn corpses that just heard the fracas would.

"Now, we both know the dead just heard all of that & they'll be on this place like flies on a mule's asshole real soon! So my suggestion is you come out now. You're dead, anyway!" the man called.

Chibs looked back over to Tig. He shrugged & shook his head. He was supposed to be the President, the leader, & he had no idea how to get them out of this. There wasn't a back door. There was no way out, they  
were just-

"Hey. Look, look! Shit!" Tig said peering out the still open door. There was a thud. The sound of a body hitting the ground pulled Chibs' attention back outside. He stood to peer back out the window. There were two more men now. One was standing over the first man, by the bikes, the second with a revolver to the driver's head.

"No, you're dead." The grizzled, wiry man growled, before pulling the trigger, spraying a red mist of blood & brain matter on the jeep.

"This is some Mad Max shit," Tig turned to face him, exasperated.

Chibs continued watching the two men out the window. They were still & quiet. And both had turned from their kills to look right at him.

"C'mon, Tiggy. Time ta go."


	2. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ****It's taken me an actual year to update this. Oops. Better late than never, amirite? I do ABSOLUTELY apologize if there's any weird formatting issues. I don't have a computer so I'm doing this all on my phone and it's not exactly accepting of or conducive to editing an entire story, line by line. This site is having exactly none of my bullshit.*****
> 
> Daryl pov. Lemme know what you think. Enjoy!

Clearly they weren’t Saviors…

Not now anyway. Maybe at one point they had been, but not now. Now what they were was valuable.  
Well, maybe. What they turned out to be determined that value. At best, these two men they’d happened upon would be able to provide them with information that would further their cause; lockdown this fight  
for them and make Negan & The Saviors a bad memory. If not that, he could at least recognize the value of two more capable bodies that came complete with their own small arsenal & the ability to use it  
worth a damn. He could recognize it, appreciate it & he knew Rick could, too.

He stood there starring into the darkened void that once held a barrier of glass, eyes locked with the man on the other side of the wall. He could feel the stickiness of the spilled blood from the Savior he’d just killed as it coagulated on his hand in the evening air. He noted the gumminess of it as he flexed his grip on the handle of his hunting knife, waiting for Rick’s next move.

“C’mon. Just come out. If we wanted your bikes & your guns, we’d be halfway down the road, by now.” Rick called to the men. He didn’t move to drop his Python, though. He kept his aim fixed toward the little shop.

Silence.

The man with the shaggy, salt and pepper mane kept stock still, eyeing Rick from the window. The other man, the one that had been peering out the door and the other window, was obscured from his view. He couldn’t be certain because of the distance, but he could feel the first guy’s eyes shift to him & it felt as if they could bore into his head, gauging the situation. Daryl got it. After all the shit he and the rest of the group had been through, he’d likely not walk out in front  
of a couple strangers. Certainly not two strangers that he just watched mercilessly kill other people. A healthy fear or weariness of other people kept you alive now. That’d become clear to him again, recently, after the last few weeks.

In his periphery he could see Rick rock forward on the ball of his foot, a telltale sign of Rick’s impatience.

“Listen,” Rick began, the agitation in the swell of his voice clearly audible, “We all know they weren’t lying when they said the walkers would be showing up soon… Now we have no intention of taking your  
things, but we know we can’t just turn around and walk off & risk you shooting us in the back, either. Best to just face each other, like men. You come out & put the guns away, I’ll do the same. You’ve already got us out gunned. Daryl, here… He’s only got the knife.”

Daryl, as a reluctant sign of good faith, moved to shove the blade back into the sheath at his hip, knowing it wouldn’t do a lick of good if they started firing at him, anyway. Knife back in its home, he turned to face away from the building, lifting an arm over his head to tug the neck of his shirt upwards, making visible the waistband of his pants. No gun was stashed at his back. He’d lost it in the woods, earlier, before they managed to catch up with the two men they’d just killed.

The stoic man in the window disappeared, then.

“Aye,” one of them announced. Daryl looked to Rick, but didn’t move his eyes away from the front of the little store. He turned back & watched the man with long salt & pepper hair and a patchy beard that matched, step out into the doorway, gun in hand raised slightly but not pointed at either of them. The other man, slightly taller, with a wild nest of black hair, followed him out in a similar posture. They were leary and slow as they sidestepped the fallen walkers on the small stoop. The one on point, Daryl could tell called the shots. It was in the way he carried himself & the way he kept his eyes locked on Rick’s. As they drew closer, his assumption was confirmed by what he was wearing. Both men donned leather kuttes, not unlike the one he’d worn for years, only they were covered in insignia proclaiming their membership to some sort of club. Judging by the bikes & patches, a motorcycle club; a real one, not the half-assed crew of Merle’s idiot, bigoted friends that they’d both run with for years.

The men stopped a few feet from where he & Rick stood, posture indicating they were still anticipating the situation to go south. The President seemed to reflect Rick’s unease & irritation, while the other man, the VP, seemed to have more of a cavalier attitude toward  
the situation. He looked Daryl up & down & chuckled a bit, adding a roll of his shoulders for good measure.

“Somethin' funny?” Daryl felt the words claw their way up his throat & past his lips as he looked at the source of the quiet laughter.

“Nothin’, man,” the VP snickered snidely, “I’m just getting’ tired of the whole Deliverance vibe I keep catchin’ around here.”

Daryl felt his eyes narrow & pulse quicken at the thinly veiled jibe but managed to hold his tongue. He watched the other man’s mouth pull into a thin line of vague annoyance, presumably at the other man’s  
remark. He, however, never broke eye contact with Rick. Both of them seemed to be feeling each other out, playing some sort of game of chicken.

Abruptly, the shaggy man’s posture changed & he began moving towards the bikes, gun now completely lowered to his side.

“Tig, leh’s goh. Woulda shot us by now, had he the mind tae.”

Daryl was a bit bowled over by the harsh accent that barreled out of the man’s mouth. As he strode past, Daryl caught a glimpse of the large patch on his back. At the center, a large grim reaper. The rockers read, “Sons of Anarchy” & “California”. Rick turned to follow  
the man with his eyes & called to him.

“Before you go, you should know something,” Rick’s tone was as much a warning as it was a dare.

“Aye? Wha’s that?” the man with the accent said offhandedly as he looked around the area, a bored expression upon his heavily bearded face.

“Those men,” Rick began as he motioned to the bodies of the slain Saviors, “The ones that just tried to kill you…? There’s more of them. And they’re gonna do what these two couldn’t.”

“Great, let’s just keep standing here. We can wait for them. Huh, Chibby? We ain’t got nowhere to be.” the one with the wild, black hair joked as he sauntered over to his bike & got on. He fixed Daryl with another snarling smile as he buckled the strap of his helmet beneath his chin.

“You don’t understand,” Rick continued, moving forward a bit, “These people, The Saviors-“

“The Saviors?” the jokester laughed.

“Yea, The Saviors,” Daryl piped up, feeling himself becoming irrationally angry for some reason, “S’what they call themselves. And if they find you, you’re gonna wish you were dead.”

Daryl tore his glare from the VP & made eye contact with the other man for the first time. The man stared back, & he easily recognized the look. It was half humoring Daryl and half genuinely interested to hear  
about these Saviors. He watched as the man rocked back on the seat of his bike, reached into his pocket & withdrew a pack of cigarettes & a lighter.

“Story time,” he quipped from around the butt of the cigarette, “But yeh should prob’ly go with tae abridged version, considering we’re about to be neck deep in bodies.”

“This group…They’re lead by a man named Negan. They have a compound not far from here & have satellite settlements all around this area. They patrol, regularly. They have numbers & they go around, attacking, killing, bending other groups of survivors, like us, to their will… They take everything. Destroy what they don’t take… leave you with nothing… Murder your friends, your family in the most unspeakably  
brutal ways imaginable… Negan & The Saviors, they force you into servitude in exchange for allowing you to live,” Rick monologued, his voice tense & thick with emotion. Daryl watched the President study Rick. He watched him take everything in, digest it, roll it over in  
his head.

“Why should we care?” he asked gruffly as he dipped his head & ashed the cigarette, though Daryl perceived there was something behind the question. It wasn’t just an “in” he was using to strike a bargain, but Daryl couldn’t place it. The President looked back up to Rick  
expectantly. “It’s just me & Tiggy. We’ve come across our fair share of daft arseholes. I ‘spect they’re noh any differen'.”

“We know what it’s like to be out on the road for a long time… No food, no water… The things you have to do to survive. The kinds of people you inevitably have to…deal with. It all swallows you up. We could help with that. We have a settlement… A few settlements.” Rick  
offered. The man with the thick accent looked from Rick to his friend & cocked an eyebrow.

“An’ if we we're to pass on yehr philanthropic offer-?” the man paused, indicating he didn’t know what to address Rick by.

“Rick.” He offered.

“Ricky…” the man dared, smugly. Rick paused, his mouth drawing into a thin line of frustration. Daryl noted to himself how much the both of these guys seemed to like to push buttons. Maybe this wasn’t the best idea. Then again, he could remember a time when he brandished his sarcasm at Rick, & everyone else he interacted with for that matter, every chance he got.

“Then you get on your bikes & leave. And I hope like hell we don’t have to kill you later on when Negan’s using you to kill our people…Women & children.”

The man with thick, graying beard sneered a bit & spat into the dirt in what Daryl assumed to be either resentment of the idea that they’d kill women & children or in disdain of the idea that Negan would use  
them as mindless soldiers.

…Or Rick’s threat of death. There was a fair chance that struck some sort of nerve, too. A tension was starting to build. Daryl could feel it.

“These uh, women & children…” the other man with the wild hair began, “You’re willing to have two guys you don’t know with guns like this around women & children? We could be animals, man. You don’t know us…”

Rick’s hand found his gun back in its holster & narrowed his gaze at the man who had asked. Daryl could feel his pulse pick up. Maybe he & Rick were making a mistake…

“Are you animals? Is that something I should worry about?” Rick asked through his teeth.

“We’re all animals. Some of us have just known longer than others.” Came the man with the accent’s thick, quiet growl.

“-How many walkers have you killed?” Daryl found himself interrupting, causing the man with the accent to turn to him, narrowing his eyes.

“What?” the other, more talkative man asked.

“Walkers. How many you kill?” Daryl repeated as he looked between the two strangers.

“Wh-“

“Just answer the questions.” Rick instructed darkly. The men paused.

“I’m not sure Tig can count that high.” The President joked, motioning with his head towards his friend. The comment was made without a hint of emotion. The man had quite the poker face.

“Hey, c’mon, man.” The other man protested weakly. Daryl could already sense that this was going to be a game of “Chicken”. He chewed at the chapped skin on his bottom lip & felt himself nod a bit, acknowledging  
the atmosphere. He knew he wasn’t going to get more than that from them in regards to the initial question, so he continued.

“How many people have you killed?” Daryl asked & the man’s poker face remained as if his features had been carved from stone. No answer came for a few beats.

“How many?” he asked more forcefully.

“What’s with the ’20 Questions’ routine?” the one name Tig mouthed, gesturing vaguely to demonstrate he was growing tired of Daryl probing them with questions.

“Answer the question.” Rick ground. Daryl watched the man’s mouth curve into something of a wry frown & his brow bounced skyward as he seemed to consider something momentarily.

“Before or after?” The heavy, foreign cadence came easily as Daryl found himself again fixed in the gaze of the man who would have had even Merle faltering. The question was an answer in & of itself. He could sense Rick rocking forward & back in a dulled nervous anticipation just outside his periphery. Daryl felt his lip curl a bit, receiving confirmation of a quiet suspicion that had hatched in the very back of his mind when he’d first seen their kuttes. Not only had they been members of a true outlaw MC, but Daryl was now getting a sense of just how outlaw they’d been. The man had just confessed to murder. Murder before the turn.

Killing had become a way of life; an unfortunate consequence of the world in its current chaotic & desperate state, borne heavily by most of those that have had the great sorrow of snuffing out that flame.  
Still, there was supposed to be a code to which one adhered. A life shouldn’t be taken on a whim. He watched the man shrug a very honest & telling shrug.

Daryl swallowed in order to choke down the bile & the hesitation in his throat. He needed to ask the final question.

“Why?” he growled. He watched as the leader cocked a brow in consideration. He was quiet for a moment before he solidly planted his  
weight on the seat of his motorcycle & took another drag off his cigarette. And as the man sat, his body language changed, almost imperceptibly. Most people likely wouldn’t have caught the small shift; the way his shoulders sagged a hair as the smoke left the biker’s lungs. Most people couldn’t read someone the way Daryl could, though.

“Fer our fam’ly. Our friends. Same's you.” He exhaled regret along with the thick smoke from the cigarette & looked at Daryl with a stoic, earnest shrug before shifting his gaze away. Daryl considered  
the man for a moment before turning to the other stranger & watched as he expressed a quiet agreement with the first man as his normally flippant attitude ebbed momentarily to give way to an honest sense of  
regret with a small nod.

Daryl found himself accepting the answer for what it was worth. It was the truth. These men may have killed before the turn, but they weren’t heartless, homicidal maniacs. They weren’t proud of the things they’d done. Then or now. It also wasn't the first time they'd joined up with former criminals. The turn washed all that was before away, for better or worse. It was one's choice to start over and try to make right. He'd done it, himself. Who was he to pass judgement on another for it?

He nodded after a moment & turned to meet Rick’s  
eyes. He knew Rick could read him like an open book. He saw Rick’s acceptance & agreement.

“We’d like for you both to come wi-“

Rick’s invitation to the bikers was interrupt sharply by the sound of snarling behind them. Daryl & Rick turned just in time to see a sizeable herd cresting the embankment on the other side of the road & tumbling down it into the shallow ditch at its base. The ditch, full  
of thick mud quickly began to fill with mindless clamoring bodies, hungry for flesh. The walkers had, indeed, heard the gunfire from before. Honestly, Daryl was surprised as hell they’d taken this damn long to get there.

“Shit.” Rick growled, drawing the hatchet he kept at his hip. Daryl heard the bikes behind him start up?

“Figures.” He mused to himself as he drew his hunting knife from its sheath & began to stalk forward. He & Rick would have to fight their way out of this alone & find some way to make it back to the car they’d stashed in the direction the herd had come from. Daryl was right behind Rick as he approached the mud-caked walkers that were now managing to scramble free of the ditch. Rick quickly & skillfully took out two walkers with his hatchet, hacking into their softened,  
decomposing heads. Daryl took out a third as it got uncomfortably close to Rick’s left & the sent another stumbling backwards into another with a hard kick to its chest, resulting in at least one of them falling hard enough to critically damage what was left of its functioning brain & causing yet another to faceplant onto the asphalt.

He was about to turn to stab another shambling corpse, when he felt something grab at his foot & yank him right off balance into a painful & disorienting half-split. The walker he’d kicked in the chest hadn’t been the one to crack its head open like a rotten jack-o-lantern. It lunged for him again as he tried to get his feet back under himself, & just as he moved out of reach of the snapping jaws, a loud pop came from behind him & the walker went limp as blackened blood misted his leg. He looked back towards the bikers.

“I thought you guys were gonna invite us over! Now you’re hangin’ out with these assholes?!” The one with the pointed nose & mess of dark curls quipped, brandishing a handgun as he snarled another goading smile while the other laughed heartily & kicked the stand on his bike up.

“Les’go, lads!” the Scot barked at he & Rick.

Daryl pulled himself off the pavement & stabbed another walker in the temple before exchanging looks with Rick. Rick nodded at him as he wiped some gore away from his own face & moved toward the bikes.

Daryl wasn’t the type of man that would quibble with himself about riding on the back of someone else’s bike in a life & death situation. He quickly moved toward the one that was apparently named ‘Tig’,  
grateful in the moment that the two strangers trusted he & Rick enough to sit with their backs turned while they very obviously had weapons in their hands. They’d both fought their way out of much stickier situations than this one, but he wasn’t fool enough to be thankful for an easier out every now & again.

Daryl settled onto the back of the bike as the bike with Rick & the President moved past them, walkers bearing down.

“Don’t grab my ass, baby.” The man in front of him joked over the Harley’s engine as he swept the kickstand up & tailed the other riders. Daryl groaned to himself, suddenly not so sure about the decision he’d just made. Things were certainly about to get very interesting.


End file.
